


Blood and Steel

by Candy_Warhol69



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_Warhol69/pseuds/Candy_Warhol69
Summary: *A multi-OC epic*While the dragon crisis rages on in the background, the turbulent tundra of Skyrim continues with it's own turmoils. Multiple paths cross as those from across the land clash in the name of honour, politics and subterfuge. Alliances will be tested, and the world of Skyrim shall be brought to the brink of destruction.





	Blood and Steel

# Camila

 

                Another murder. The body of a young, Nord woman lay strewn across a grave site. Her naked body was covered in a blanket of fresh snow. The killer had put her here recently. This was once Suzanna the Wicked, no one special, just the barmaid at Candlehearth Hall. Another innocent lost in the city.

Camila Garett, a young Breton who recently joined the Windhelm city guard, stood over the body and made sure no prying eyes came anywhere near it.

The young woman shivered beneath her blue armour and kept a close watch on the two paths which lead to this spot.

Little was known about the murders, the city guard was stretched thin as it was, what with the war effort and everything, and now, with Jarl Ulfric currently in the hands of the Empire, it was up to his loyal court to ensure Windhelm was fortified lest Tullius make a move. Most of her comrades were lining the walls of the city, or occupying watchtowers along the road for any sign of Imperial discourse.

Camila was just proud to be a part of the guard, able to serve those who would drive the Empire from Skyrim, and hopefully spark a chain reaction throughout the rest of Tamriel. But this, this was not what she had in mind when she joined.

From what information had been written down by her fellow guardsmen, the murderer had been nicknamed ‘The Butcher’ by some (which was not at all surprising now that Camila had come face to face with one of their victims,) and the murderer seemed to be targeting Nord women.

Camila speculated that perhaps it was one of the Dark Elves, attacking Nords in a misguided attempt to fight back against Ulfric and his bigoted nature towards their kind. To an extent, she understood their anger, but this, this was no way to go about it.

“By the Nine!” gasped an old man who Camila hadn’t noticed. She panicked, and her hand went to the hilt of her iron sword.

“Sir, remain calm and turn back, the city guard have this all under control!” she stressed, in her most authoritative voice.

“Under control?” the old man scoffed. “There’s a woman lying dead at your feet!”

“By order of the Jarl, I am ordering you to turn back now!”

“The jarl?” he chuckled, and Camila knew now that the old man was drunk, “Last I heard, we don’t even _have_ a jarl, so you can take your orders and shove them up your-”

Before he could finish his profanity, a gauntleted arm had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and spun him around.

“Trouble citizen?” asked Trayvon Iron-Wind, a towering Nord who looked like the poster boy of Ulfric’s rebellion.

“Y-you don’t scare me!” the old man shouted back, but his trembling legs told a different story.

“Is that right?” Trayvon smirked. “Perhaps a few days in the palace dungeons will put the fear of the Nine back into you?”

“N-no please!” all drunken bravado had left this feeble man.

“Next time you find yourself harassing a member of the city watch, just remember how one made you piss yourself old man!” Trayvon let the man go, and he looked down at his now sullied cloth breeches.

The old man said no more and hurried off down the way he came, making Trayvon chuckle. Camila smiled back at him.

“Thanks,” she said, though felt rather ashamed that it wasn’t her who instilled such fear in the vagrant.

“No problem.”

Trayvon approached the scene and shook his head.

“By the Gods, did no one think to cover the poor woman up? Aren’t the dead allowed some dignity?”

With that, Trayvon unfastened his fur cloak and draped it over the corpse.

“Any word on suspects?” Camila asked. It had fallen upon the two of them (mostly Trayvon as he was more respected by the locals,) to find out who was responsible. Slightly above the paygrade of one who just joined the guard.

“Nothing,” Trayvon shook his head, “Dunmer pointing fingers at the Nords, the Nords pointing right back, same old same old,” he sighed.

“The markings seem ritualistic,” Camila stated. She had looked at the body only briefly, when she closed the poor girl’s eyes over.

“Daedra worship?” Trayvon suggested.

“Maybe,” Daedra worshippers in the city? Now _that_ was something to be concerned about. “We should look into the significance of these markings.”

“By the Nine,” Trayvon sighed, his breath a thick fog in the evening chill.

It was still strange to her, to hear people evoking the name of Talos. The terms of the White-Gold Concordat had been in effect since she was only a year old, to her, there had always been eight Divines.

She was never one to care about the gods, but Talos, to her he was more than that, he was a champion of the peoples of Tamriel. What the Thalmor did when they banned his worship, they asked for the people to revolt. It was the Thalmor who made the Stormcloaks.

                “What about Jarl Ulfric?” Camila asked, not feeling too optimistic of Ulfric’s survival.

“Rumour has it they’re taking him to Helgen, a little settlement near Whiterun,” Trayvon explained, “Tullius plans to take his head there, and bring it back to his masters as a trophy.”

“Damn him!” Camila spat.

“Even in death Jarl Ulfric will continue to inspire his revolution,” Trayvon brought a heavy hand down on her shoulder.

She was not so sure. Ulfric inspired many throughout Skyrim. They saw him as a symbol of traditional ways, for better or worse, and they rallied behind him out of respect. Who would take his place if Tullius’ plan succeeded? Galmar? The old man had made more than a few enemies over his many years. Beyond him, there were none in Windhelm with Ulfric’s prowess or battle savvy.

“Death to the Empire!” he roared proudly.

“Death to the Empire,” she repeated with a smile. She said those words like a prayer most nights. Tonight, she would say it twice, for Ulfric, and for the rebellion.

 

*

                Camila had finished jotting down her suspicions of Daedra worshippers in the city when she heard the drunken wailings of Angrenor Once-Honoured, a man she had twice had the pleasure of kicking in the balls.

“A POX ON YOU KNIFE EARED BASTARDS AND YOUR GODS DAMNED EMPIRE!” the drunken buffoon roared at the top of his lungs.

It was never a surprise when someone came heckling down the Grey Quarter (as a foreigner, the Grey Quarter was still the best place Camila could hope to live in the city,) but since returning from the battlefield, Angrenor had become more belligerent than any young Nord who thought himself a big man for heckling at some refugees.

Camila was about to force herself to deal with the fool, before he said something which peaked her interests.

“YOUR PLAN FAILED YOU IMPERIAL SPIES!” he shrieked so just about everyone in the Quarter could get an earful, “JARL ULFRIC STILL LIVES!”

 _What?_ Camila approached her window, now eager for more from the discharged warrior.

“A DRAGON! THE AVATAR OF AKATOSH SWOOPED DOWN AND SAVED OUR HIGH KING FROM YOUR IMPERIAL HEADSMAN! SAVED BY THE GODS THEMSELVES!” the Nord laughed.

He continued his usual tirade of slurs and expletives, but now, Camila was able to zone it out. Ulfric was alive! The true king of Skyrim lived!

She thanked the Divines for this miracle and closed her journal.

“Death to the Empire,” she muttered to herself.


End file.
